


we were young (but your eyes were younger still)

by atlantisairlock



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kingsman The Secret Service, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dogs, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Not Really Character Death, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's that kind of movie, or, Skye becomes a super spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we were young (but your eyes were younger still)

**Author's Note:**

> having watched kingsman isn't a prerequisite to understand the fic, but it would help. or at least having watched the trailer, because I skip past some bits that help establish the context in the film. it's very condensed. generally, though, I think it should be understandable. 
> 
> title from 'leopold street' by the paper kites.

It all starts with a medal.

She's just a child, playing with her trains and trucks while the scary lady talks to her mum in the next room. Mum is shouting, and there's a faint thud that sounds like something hitting the drywall, and indistinct murmurs of conversation. It lasts for about how long it takes for the long hand to move from five to fifteen, and then the tall lady who knocked on their door walks into Skye's playroom, kneels down right in front of Skye and shows her something shiny. A medal, Skye thinks; she's seen some of them on her dad's clothes before. 

"What's your name?" The lady speaks a bit funny, but her voice is gentle. Dad said never to talk to strangers, but Skye supposes that if she was talking to mum then she isn't a stranger. 

"I'm Skye."

"Hello, Skye." There's a smile on her face that's warm and reassuring. "You see this medal?"

Skye nods, and watches in fascination as the scary lady puts the medal in her palm and wraps her fingers around it in a fist. "I want you to keep this safe, alright? And if you ever need help, just call the number on the back and say _oxfords not brogues_ , so I'll know it's you. You can only call the number  _once,_ so make sure you make the most of it. Do you understand?"

She's just a child.

But Skye understands. 

 

 

Fast forward over a decade later, and life is vastly different, now. They're living in the projects, and mum's got some prick for a boyfriend swaggering around their house like he  _belongs_ there - it's been four years and still Skye doesn't feel like he does. She's fucking around the neighbourhood acting bigger than she knows she really is because there's nothing else for her to do. She's got her buddies, and they pop down to the pub to get a drink every night and mess around with people's cars, and they all reckon they'll probably be six feet under before they turn thirty. Skye laughs about it with them, nicks a posh wanker's wallet and they splurge on shots at a classier bar uptown, but the truth is that deep down, she desperately wants to do  _something_ with her life. She's got Daisy at home, the only good thing that came out of Dickface insinuating himself into their lives. She wants her baby sister to grow up right - go to a good school and have a proper childhood and not end up like  _her._

But she's dropped out of school, dropped out of the Marines and there's nowhere else to go. 

And it all comes to a head the day she rams the stolen car spectacularly and yells at Leo and Tripp to run, and she ends up in cuffs at the nearest police station. 

Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

 

"You'd better call your mother," the snotty police officer tells her, and Skye grins wide at him all the way till the door shuts securely on her. 

When she picks up the phone, Skye grabs the medal hanging on a chain around her neck. She hasn't taken it off ever since that day, when she begged her mum to make it into a necklace-style thing. She's never called - partly because the years have moved on and memory is unreliable and she's really not sure if that scary lady she recalls was screwing with her or not, having a laugh at her expense. Even in the gravest of situations, it's never felt like rock-bottom, and it hasn't felt right to give the number a try.

But she'll admit it now. She's right and truly fucked. For all the shit she's pulled, she's never been caught and faced with the very real possibility of getting thrown into the slammer. Skye can't afford to leave her mum and Daisy alone at home with Dickface while she sits and rots behind bars, however short her sentence might be. If there's even a chance she could get out of this unscathed, she has to try.

_How may I help you?_

The voice over the phone is silk-soft, and Skye babbles out her entire situation within one breath, five sentences that basically mean one thing -  _help._

_I'm sorry, ma'am. You have the wrong number._

No, Skye thinks, fuck.  _Fuck._ She scrambles before the ominous click that means she's dead and gone and her mum's going to kill her. No. The scary lady said something ten years back. A password, if you might. What was it? 

"Wait!" She all but yells into the phone. "Oxfords not brogues?" 

There's a pause over the line before the disembodied voice returns without a hitch.  _Your complaint has been duly noted. Your request will be processed immediately. Thank you for your call, and we hope that we've not lost you as a loyal customer._

Then silence. Skye stares at the phone in her hand for a full five seconds, utterly unimpressed. "That's it?"

 

 

Apparently, that is not it. Five minutes later the same police officer is walking her out of the door of the precinct, glowering so hard Skye tells him he should get his blood pressure checked with as much cheek as she can muster. She's got to get out of there, though - she's spent the whole night away from home, and who knows what's happened to her mum and Daisy? Skye turns the corner and she's about to clear a whole flight of stairs in one jump when someone calls her name.

"Hello, Skye. Do you recall who I am?"

 _Oi,_ Skye thinks.  _That voice sounds right familiar._

The years have piled on her, but she recognises Tall Scary Lady immediately. Skye's not ashamed to say that the first thing that crosses her mind is  _damn, what a piece._ Tall Scary Lady is hotter than she remembers. She's even got this posh suit on; it hugs her curves and brings out her eyes and hot damn, this is the kind of thing that makes Skye believe there might be a God, now and then.

"You're that scary one that came to talk to my mum when I was a kid!" Skye grins, stopping in her tracks. "Did you just bail me out of jail then?" 

There is the faintest hint of a smile on the woman's face. "Let's go get a drink, shall we?" 

 

 

As it turns out, Tall Scary Lady is called Melinda May. She's still got that natty way of talking and seems perfectly at ease in the sleazy pub even though she's in suit and tie and all that jazz. Even got an umbrella by her side. Nice and sleek and all-black, what? 

They even have a pleasant little chat. Even though Skye flips the birdie at her at one point and calls her a few choice names harking back to having a silver spoon up her ass. She can't really be outright pissed, though, not at someone who just scooped her sorry rear out of jail. 

Can't really get pissed at someone who proceeds to kick  _absolute ass_ when the kid whose car she stole walks in with nine of his little entourage. Melinda May does this classy little _manners maketh man_ thing and sweeps a glass of rotten whiskey at one of the six-foot-two boys with the handle of her umbrella. It smacks him right in the middle of the forehead and down he goes, and Skye can only watch in utter fascination as she takes down ten of the strongest teenagers Skye knows single-handedly. Sure, she's got these snazzy gadgets that come right out of some Bond movie, Skye  _swears,_ because Melinda hides behind her fucking umbrella when the bullets start flying and, no fucking  _lie,_ the umbrella takes all the hits and doesn't even tear. Ten minutes later Melinda's back at her seat facing Skye, taking another swig of her beer, not even out of breath. Skye takes in the scene; ten stunned would-be attackers lying on the floor of the pub, out of commission.

"Wild," she whispers, eyes wide. "Oi, who the fuck  _are_ you?"

Melinda finishes her beer with a smirk. "Would you like to find out?"

 

 

So bite her, Skye was expecting something more James Bond-esque than... a tailor shop.

"Don't knock it," Melinda chides her gently when she sees Skye's apparent disappointment. "Come on in and you'll see what I mean."

Well, fine. The tailor's fancy-schmancy as all fuck. Everything looks so bloody chic that she thinks she'd have to wash dishes for the rest of her life if she even so much as broke a needle. Skye follows Melinda into a dressing room, which seems awful small until she pulls the hooks in some funny fashion and the wall swings open. Right. That's  _cool._ Colour her impressed. She finds herself staring into a full-length mirror with Melinda behind her, grasping her shoulders. 

"What do you see, Skye?"

"I see someone who wants to know what the fuck is going on." Skye answers without skipping a beat. A smile quirks on Melinda's face, and Skye likes that the older woman seems to enjoy her quick wit. "Have you ever seen the film Trading Places?"

"Wot?"

Melinda tries again. "Nikita?"

"Sounds Russian."

"Pretty Woman?"

"This some sort of Film Club?"

"All right, fine," Melinda sighs, but she's grinning. "My point is that the lack of a silver spoon, as you so elegantly put it, up your ass, well - it has set you on a certain path that you needn't necessarily stay on. If you're prepared to adapt and learn, you can transform. I see a strong, brave, loyal young woman when I look into this mirror, Skye. One who has a great deal of potential. I would like to see you fulfil that potential. I'm offering you the opportunity to become a Kingsman."

Skye thinks if her eyebrows went any further up they'd shoot past her forehead. _"A tailor?"_

"A Kingsman  _agent,_ Skye." Melinda is vastly more patient than Skye thinks she could ever hope to be. The light's beginning to dawn, anyway. "Like... a _spy_."

"Yes, like a spy. We need people like you, in my opinion. Are you interested?"

"Hell yeah! What've I got to lose?" And if being a spy means she could have that nifty umbrella, well, all the better. "Hey, is that all I gotta say? I can be a Kingsman now?" 

"Of course not," Melinda chuckles, and with one hand on the mirror, the floor starts  _moving._

Sinking, to be accurate. Dull gray walls begin to rise above Skye's head, all around her, and she just has to pinch herself to make sure this is  _real._

"How far down does thing go?!"

Another chuckle. "Far enough."

 

 

And, well, it looks like Skye's just signed herself to try and become the next Lancelot. According to Melinda, the previous Lancelot got cut to pieces trying to save this one kidnapped professor, apparently, but that ain't her business. All she knows is that she's going to become a fucking  _Kingsman agent._

_All fucking right._

 

 

The first thing she comes to understand is that pretty much everyone who's fighting to become a Kingsman agent is an elitist prick. Skye doesn't let it get to her, of course. She's smarter than that. It's nice to see that there are some people on her side, though; not rooting for her per se, but at least they're not treating her like she's lower-class dirt. Jemma Simmons has a ready smile and lighthearted composure, and Natasha Romanoff has a friendly brand of determination and ambition. _May the best woman win_ is the first thing she says to Skye when they shake hands for the first time, a grin on her face, and that makes Skye grin back. All the other potential recruits have already begun to underestimate her; Natasha obviously isn't falling into that trap. Skye wants to become the next Lancelot and she's not going to let anyone in the room stop her, but she thinks she could be friends with Natasha regardless.

Despite another Tall Scary Lady - _Merlin,_ apparently; these Kingsman people have a strange fascination with the whole Knights of the Round Table lark - briefing them with a hard, flat tone about body bags and a total lack of privacy, Skye retires that night with a smile on her face.

She's going to do this.

 

 

She gets about five hours' worth of sleep before she's woken up by the sound of... _sloshing_.

Growing up in a place like the projects means three things. One, she awakens at the slightest disturbance, because a moment of bleariness could mean the difference between life and death. Two, sloshing sounds = running water. Three, running water in what should be a contained environment is  _never_ a good sign. Skye leaps out of bed onto the floor, making as much noise as she can to wake the others. The water's already halfway up her thigh and it's coming faster and faster. 

If it keeps up like this and they don't do something soon, they're going to drown.

"Get up!" Skye screams, and  _that's_ enough to wake even the heaviest sleepers. The water's rising, and there's one second of panic before the boy called Bucky takes some sort of charge. "Head towards the showers! Hoses! Hoses!"

 _Hoses?_ Skye has no clue in hell what Bucky is talking about, but apparently the rest do. They're already scrabbling towards the end of the room with the showers, wrenching the hoses out and shoving them down the toilet. Natasha seems to be pushing people together in pairs and handing a hose out to each pair.  _The fuck?_

Skye grits her teeth. Right, she has no idea what the fuck the other potential recruits are doing. She'll have to find a way to solve the problem herself. The water's almost at her chest; she estimates she has five seconds before she goes under. She thinks back to her Marines training and consciously hyperventilates, taking in as much air as possible before the water level rises past her head and the room goes under. 

Think.  _Think._ This has to be a test; the Kingsmen aren't going to murder all of their recruits five hours after they've been brought to base. Which means they have to get out of the room. The water pressure means that any trapdoors or doors that are opened from this side are negligible. There are no windows. There are no -

Skye turns to the shower area, where the rest are congregated, and finds herself staring back.

_The mirror._

The mirror?...

She swims forward and crosses the room in little more than a few strokes, pressing her fingertip against the surface of the mirror. It's two-way. Someone is watching them from behind. There's  _something_ behind it.

Skye raises her fist and slams it with all her might at the mirror. It takes three punches but the spiderweb-like cracks begin to appear in the glass, and just when she thinks she's really going to die of suffocation, the entire thing gives. All of them tumble into the room behind the mirror, landing in one soaked, miserable pile of bodies. 

Standing there, completely unfazed, is fucking  _Merlin._ Merlin with a clipboard in hand, glasses firmly perched on her nose, looking like she just sat through a four-hour lecture on the most boring subject in the world. "Well done. You didn't drown." She's making notes on the electronic screen as they help each other up, gasping for breath. "Barnes, good job on the hoses and understanding that you could get a supply of air, however noxious, if you pushed the hoses past the p-bend and into the vent pipe. Romanoff, well done on distributing the hoses to pairs when you realised there weren't enough for everybody to have one hose each. And Johnson, you were very astute in realising how exactly to get out of the room." Merlin clears her throat and folds her arms. "But as far as I'm concerned, you've all failed this test. You've forgotten the most important part about being a Kingsman agent.  _Teamwork."_

With a chill of dread, Skye turns to the room they just broke out of. Floating face-down in the remaining water is a very familiar body.

"Jemma," Natasha whispers from beside Skye, and something squeezes hard beneath her ribcage.

They're given a proper dorm to sleep in with the promise that they won't get near-drowned again. Skye doesn't sleep well at all.

 

 

The very next day, they get their puppies. Merlin stands in front of them on a field, a pyramid of cages behind her. "As some of you will have learned last night, teamwork is _paramount_ here at Kingsman. We're here to enhance your skills and test you to the limit. Which is why you're going to pick a puppy."

There's a snort from Tony, and Merlin's jaw sets hard. "Would you like to be sent home in disgrace before the training has even begun, Stark?"

Tony bites his lip. "No, ma'am."

"Then shut up and listen." She addresses the whole group again. "Wherever you go, your dog goes. You will care for it. You will teach it. And by the time it's fully trained, so will you be. Those of you who are still here, that is. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Merlin gestures to the cages behind her. "Choose your puppy." 

Which is, like, the  _greatest_ thing Skye has ever heard of. She's always wanted a dog, but her dad wasn't too keen on them and then after he died mum said one child was enough to look after, let alone a dog. And Dickface had a real penchant for abusing animals, so there was no fucking way in hell she was going to bring an innocent animal into that house. And now she gets to own a dog. She doesn't really know how to pick one, no, but when they all scramble forward there's this one darling puppy which looks like a baby bulldog and Skye grabs it; she can't  _wait_ for it to grow up and get huge and stuff.

Natasha's choice surprises her, to say the least. She doesn't seem like a poodle person, but when Skye asks Natasha just grins. "Gun dogs. Oldest working breed. Easy to train. She'll be sitting, begging and rolling over before Stark gets sent home." They share a laugh at that, then Natasha notices Skye's choice. "A... pug." 

"What?" Skye stares down at her puppy on a leash. "It's a bulldog, ain't it?"

"Um..."

"It's gonna get bigger, right?"

The redhead shakes her head apologetically, masking her giggles. Skye smacks her forehead and sighs. " _Shit._ "

 

 

The first time they go on a 5K run, RT the pug sits by the side of the path and whines, and Merlin just watches pityingly as Skye tries to coax it to move before finally giving up. Merlin forbade them from putting their pup in their bag when they ran, but she never said anything about putting it down her shirt.

Everyone except Natasha has a real scream when Skye makes it past the finishing line third-last with her pug in her shirt. Tasha just fistbumps her and says "nice", and they can all tell that Merlin's doing her very best not to laugh. "Very innovative, Johnson." 

 _Innit tho_ , Skye thinks, and she can bet Melinda would be proud of her.

 

 

They have tests, tests, tests all day. Weapons tests. Fitness tests. Tech tests, where they're brought to the lab and all double-take when _Jemma's_ there, smiling at them and Merlin explains the rationale behind a plant in every group of new recruits. You name it. At one point, they have a logic test. Merlin distributes the tests three hours later and stops in front of Rumlow, the most arrogant, aggravating recruit who even  _Stark_ doesn't like. "You are the first recruit in three generations of Merlins - and believe me, my predecessors served for  _years_ \- to have been kicked out for intelligence. I have no idea what could have _possessed_ Safir to sponsor you. Pack up and go."

It's the first time all of them have a good laugh together, and that breaks the ice. The remaining group of recruits sit together and watch TV during one of the rare blocks they get to rest and relax. There's a news broadcast on about this philanthropist guy called Laufeyson who's distributing free SIM cards to the entire world so they can get free calls, texts, internet and whatnot. _Fuck, these people with silver spoons up their asses,_ Skye thinks. _Who pulls this kind of shit?_

 

 

When there are six of them left, they get sent on the parachuting mission, the one test where their dogs are allowed to stay home. Natasha's poodle Black Widow is curled up by RT when they're suiting up and leaving, and it's almost hard to leave her pug behind, even though she knows she's coming back.

It's the best test Skye could ask for, though. It's such a rush, jumping out into nothing but air while holding Natasha's hand, because apparently her best friend's only weakness is a crippling fear of heights. It's exhilarating as they all tumble down to their destination, laughing and yelling, high on the adrenaline.

Until Merlin's cool voice over the headsets informs them that one of them has a parachute that won't open, and the atmosphere turns sour real fast. Clint's screaming  _what are we going to do_ and they're all yelling  _what? what?_ at Merlin, but Skye's brain is just racing frantically because she's  _got_ to make sure they all land up on the ground in one piece.

Her idea's a long shot. But better a 0.01% chance than none.

"Hey!  _Hey!"_ She shouts at them, and they're all so terrified they snap their heads up and listen to her. "I got a plan! Listen, we all make a circle, grab hands, and we pull our cords one by one, alright? So that whoever's parachute won't open won't fall to their death! Got it?  _Got it?"_

There's no time for snark or to argue. They all flip and turn and push to get themselves into formation, grabbing each other's arms in the tightest grip possible. 

"Alright," Skye takes charge without even realizing it. "Bucky, you first, then Scott, then Tony, Clint, Natasha, and then me last. Bucky, go!"

Bucky's about to pull his ripcord when Scott pulls on his own and wrenches away from them with a triumphant yell.

 _"Fuck!"_ Bucky screams, and it's only because Skye holds on to him so tight that he doesn't go spiralling to the ground. " _Fuck_ you, Lang!"

"Ignore him!" Natasha shouts over the howling wind as they pull together to tighten the circle once more. "Bucky!"

He pulls on the cord and the parachute bursts free. Tony and Skye let go so he can drift, before Tony reaches to his own. With a  _whoosh_ he's off. Clint follows suit, and then it's just her and Natasha and the ground coming up to meet them a lot faster than is comfortable. 

"Natasha. Pull the cord and hold on tight, okay?" Skye yells, and Natasha's face is pale but she nods. Her grip on Skye is stronger than steel as she tugs.

As her parachute appears in a burst of electric yellow, the force almost knocks Skye clear from Natasha but the thought of imminent death is enough for her to cling on. They're both corkscrewing to the ground, trying not to scream, and they land ten seconds later with a thud.

Merlin lands about a minute later on a designated helipad while all six of them catch their breath on the lawn. She's still holding the clipboard and she has a hard look in her eyes. "Lang. You're out. Have we not stressed the importance of teamwork  _enough?_ Pack your things. Get out." She pauses and looks down at her notes. "Barton, your landing was unsatisfactory considering how far along in training you are. Both of you can pack up and go home. Barnes, Stark, Romanoff, Johnson - you passed. Go back, pack out and get dressed." 

Natasha and Skye grin at each other and fistbump. "Thank you so much, Skye. I don't think I'd have been able to jump if you hadn't jumped with me."

"Aw, fuck heights, Tasha. Huh. I should thank you, anyway. You saved my life, innit?"

"Johnson." They start as they realize Merlin's behind them. "Well done. You've got a creative, observant head on your shoulders. You passed this test with flying colours. But nevertheless, there's one more thing for you to know." Merlin reaches across to pull on Skye's ripcord, and she lets out a surprised yell as her functioning parachute almost drags her five feet away. "Trust no one."

They both watch their supervisor walk away, then turn to each other in disbelief before cracking up in laughter.

 

 

The day after her parachute mission, Merlin calls Skye to the infirmary and she nearly passes out when she sees Melinda lying in the bed. "What the hell happened?"

Melinda squints irritably and waves her hand. "Merlin, would you please bring Skye up to date?"

Merlin looks uncomfortable, which is new to Skye, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't savouring the expression. "She's not a Kingsman agent yet."

There is a patient rolling of eyes, or as patient as the very gesture can be. " _Maria._ She's going to find out sooner or later by, as she puts it, _nicking_ one of your clipboards." The way she says it makes Skye bounce on the balls of her feet, just a little, her heart inexplicably warm. "Just tell her what's going on."

"Fine." Merlin - apparently  _Maria -_  answers curtly, and swipes something off the clipboard onto the widescreen in the infirmary. A photo of some middle-aged balding man appears in full colour. "This is Professor Pierce. The previous Lancelot was rescuing him when he died in action. He was later presumed dead, killed by Laufeyson - "

"Wait, wot?" Skye interrupts, ignoring the irritation in Merlin's expression. " _Laufeyson?_ As in, that weird old internet billionaire philanthropist guy who's on, like, every TV screen in the world?"

"Exactly," Merlin answers in a clipped tone. "We have reasons to believe he is behind a slew of kidnappings of prominent authority figures all around the world, including Professor Pierce.  _However,_ recently CCTV evidence showed that our eminent Professor was, in fact, alive and well and teaching at the college he was employed at. Galahad - that's Melinda to you - was sent to investigate and do a bit of interrogation."

"The poor man stammered at me with complete terror in his eyes," Melinda pipes up, sounding more annoyed than anything. "And before he could tell me anything useful his head blew up."

Skye's jaw drops. "I'm sorry -  _wot?"_

"His head blew up, Skye. It was repulsive, to say the least, and keep in mind I have had full contact operations in slaughterhouses before. Not a second later do armed agents come crashing into the classroom. Had to toss a bomb and throw myself out of a window to stay alive. That's why I'm here." She gestures to the bed she's lying on in disgust. Skye blinks hard. "And you think Laufeyson is behind this."

"I  _know_ he's behind this. I just don't understand what his motive is, or why Professor Pierce's head _blew up,_ or how it's connected to the kidnappings. Once I'm out of this dratted bed, I'll be back on the field." Melinda pointedly ignores Merlin's disapproving hiss. "Meanwhile, I've heard you've been spectacular in training. Care to take my mind off my situation and tell me all about it?"

"Yeah, alright," Skye answers, and it's the most glorious thing in the world to see Melinda smile when she speaks. 

 

 

Bucky fails the final social skills test, a section he's been struggling with from the start. His sponsor Caradoc herself looks almost as crestfallen as Bucky, until Merlin nods at him with a sympathetic compassion on her face. "Caradoc. Barnes has shown exceptional talent in weapons tests and has shown capability perfectly fitting of a Kingsman in all other ways. If he's keen, there's an opening for him in the weapons testing department."

"Thank you, Merlin." Bucky nods respectfully, and they all shake his hand before he packs up and leaves. It's the first time when it really  _settles_ in on Skye; that she's this close to becoming a full-fledged Kingsman.

 _And then there were three,_ she thinks, as they watch Bucky leave.

 

 

"This is a honeypot test," Merlin informs the remaining trio after a few more weeks of training, handing out manila folders to each of them. "Your task is to seduce this girl." No beating around the bush with Merlin there ain't. 

"You sure she swings both ways?" Tony asks, raising an eyebrow, and Merlin has the gall to look amused. "That information is irrelevant, Stark. Even if she only swings one way, as you so crudely put it, your task remains unchanged - just more difficult. Get going."

Their girl for the honeypot mission is obviously flattered by their attentions, but she slips off to answer a phone call at the main desk. Skye sips her champagne, and she hasn't drunk much of this posh shit before but she can taste the drug before it registers.

"Aw shit," Tony groans, and it's the last thing she remembers before she falls asleep. 

 

 

She wakes up tied to some train tracks, and god if that ain't comic-book as hell. The waiter who served her champagne is standing over her with a manic grin on his face, and Skye is suddenly fucking terrified, for reasons evident. "Holy shit. Holy fuck, let me go, shit,  _shit,_ let me go!"

"I might," he says, all smooth and oily, playing with a knife in his hands. "If you tell me everything you know about  _Kingsman."_

Skye's got a lot of faults, but fuck if she doesn't understand what loyalty means. It's why she keeps going home every night even though Dickface's living there. It's why she told Leo and Tripp to run. She's not going to tell this man anything. Not even when she sees the blinding lights of the train, on its way to crush her like a beetle. She struggles valiantly with her restraints, and the man's face looms even closer. "Just a bit of information to save your life, my girl. Are they really worth dying for?"

The whistle of the train is deafening now, she can't see a thing, she's going to die. "FUCK YOU!" Skye screams, and closes her eyes, just _bracing_ for the impact -

it never comes. Within moments there is silence once more, and Skye opens her eyes, watches in disbelief as the section of the track she's tied to begins to rise. It clicks in place by the rest of the track, and Melinda's standing there with a smile on her face. "Well done, Skye."

"What the..." Skye trails off as Melinda leans over her to cut her free, and her heart rate speeds up considerably. Melinda's explaining in her calm, controlled tone. "That was a test, in case you haven't already figured it out. And you passed it admirably. Well done."

When it comes from Melinda, praise makes Skye almost blush, but she manages to tamp it down. "Yeah, thanks. Thought I was gonna die, though."

"That's the fun part," Melinda grins, and Skye snorts. "How'd Tasha do?"

"Percival's choice passed as well, of course. As if there were any doubt. We're on the way to watch Stark, in fact. How'd you like to see it?"

Skye smirks as the last of her bonds come loose. "Hell yeah."

 

 

To his credit, Tony keeps his lips firmly sealed until the train's seconds away from crushing him and the waiter asks him if Kingsman's worth dying for. It's then when Tony's eyes open and he screams  _NO_ at the top of his lungs, and Merlin sighs and shakes her head. "That's it, then. He's out."

"But he didn't give up any information," Natasha says curiously, and Percival nods while he puts a hand on her shoulder. "But loyalty is one of the most important values for us, Natasha. In his hearts of hearts, he doesn't believe Kingsman is worth sacrificing his life for. He isn't worthy of becoming the next Lancelot."

They watch a while longer as Bors, Tony's sponsor, cuts him free with a look of abject disappointment on his face. Merlin switches off the feed and turns to both pairs of sponsor and recruit. "Tradition dictates that the final two have twenty-four hours to spend with their sponsors, in any way they wish, before the final test. Your twenty-four hours begins after you take your leave of the building at 1600 hours exactly." 

Skye turns to look at Melinda, and her pulse beats a bit faster.

 

 

They have tea, then a nice cocktail at a classy bar Melinda frequents, and they even manage to catch a two-act play while the night is young. The drive home in her Kingsman-issue car is luxurious, but steeped in silence, all the way till they pull into her driveway. Melinda shuts off the engine and turns to Skye with the ghost of a smile on her face. "I'm very proud of you, Skye. Of course I expected you to make it this far, but it's always a point of pride for one's pick to make it to the final two. Tonight, we'll have a drink at my place and then you can rest up, and tomorrow I'll take you to visit your mum and sister before your final test, would that be fine?"

"Um..." Looking at Melinda in the slight shadow of the car, so close and so quiet, is pretty unhealthy for Skye, in her opinion. She swallows hard, crossing her legs to quell the heat pooling between her thighs. "I dunno. I mean, I don't want to sound like some big-arsed prick here, but I'm pretty certain I'll become Lancelot. And I want to tell my mum  _when_ that happens. It'll be a surprise. As long as they're OK for now." A sudden wave of concern overtakes her. "They  _are_ OK, right? I mean, I know you said you would tell them everything but I left without saying goodbye, and - "

"Yes, they are, Skye, don't worry. I've been keeping an eye on them for you. Your stepfather hasn't been home in a while, too - though he'd be in for an unpleasant surprise if he tried anything with me around. I think that helps lighten the mood at home, his being absent."

Skye breathes a sigh of relief as they get out of the car, carrying RT snug in her arms. "That's alright, then. Thanks loads, Melinda, I appreciate it." 

They settle down in the living room with scotch after Skye settles RT on a spare dog bed Melinda has, and it surprises Skye when the alcohol tastes good to her. All she's known her whole life is the dirt cheap stuff, beer and all. This is good stuff and it burns down her throat, settles warm in her stomach. They sit quietly, side by side, a comfortable silence Skye's learnt to enjoy. 

"Skye," Melinda says just as she's drifting into sleep after finishing her scotch. "You do understand that whatever you do as a Kingsman, everything you fight for, everything you sacrifice, it will never be recognized by over 99% of the population, don't you? Even if you die to save the world... your obituary will never say anything beyond your date of birth, date of death, and that you were loved as a daughter and a sister."

"Mmm," Skye slurs, a little out of it from the scotch already - she doesn't exactly have an iron liver. "Ain't no 'lover' or 'girlfriend' in that description, what?"

Melinda actually smirks. "Do you mean Natasha?"

Skye shoots up so fast her head instantly starts screaming. She actually has to take a moment and interrupt herself to hold her head in her hands and groan before the pain subsides and she can speak again. "Hell no! She's m'best friend, like a sister t'me... it ain't like that." Okay, she's definitely drunk, and she has practically no control over the shit she's spouting. "She ain't you."

Something flashes in Melinda's eyes, and before Skye's brain can truly catch up with her mouth, Melinda laughs softly. "Go to sleep, Skye. You're drunk."

She vaguely remembers Melinda helping her to the guest room before she falls into a blissful sleep.

 

 

Nothing seems to have changed the next morning, and Skye has a brief moment of indecision debating whether she should bring up what she said last night. But conversation over a delicious breakfast of eggs benedict is lighthearted and breezy, and she decides she'll wait for a better timing before she tells Melinda how she feels. 

"So," Skye says once she's done with her asparagus, discreetly feeding some steak into RT's mouth. "If we're not going to visit my mum & Daisy, what're we gonna do today?"

Melinda pops a cube of cheese into her mouth. "Don't think I can't see what you're doing; your pug is going to get fat. And we're going to the tailor's."

 

 

Instead of the dressing room they went to the first time they came to Kingsman's tailor-shop front, Melinda shuttles Skye into fitting room 1 and taps in some bizarre password on the wall. It swings open, more password tapping, and  _woah -_

holy shit. It's an absolute fucking  _arsenal_ of weaponry, and those snazzy suits that Melinda and Merlin and Percival and everyone are always dressed in. Skye feels like a little kid on Christmas Day, and she runs around the room looking at everything. "Holy shit! This is fucking ace!"

"Indeed." Melinda agrees, opening a drawer and showing Skye around. "When you become a Kingsman, you'll have access to all of these weapons. Some are obviously weapons, like the guns. Some are concealed. Like the oxfords." She clicks her heels together and a spike shoots out of the toe. Skye's eyes almost bug out, and she leans forward to prod the blade. Melinda sighs, exasperated. "Don't _touch_ that, Skye, for goodness' sake. It's got enough poison on it to kill five grown men." Another quick click and it's concealed again. "We're more than just the umbrella, you know."

"How about them glasses that you all wear?"

"Those provide live feed. Merlin can see and hear everything I do when I've got these glasses on. And some of the things we display projector-style can only be seen when the glasses are on." She grins at Skye's awestruck expression. "Real James Bond, aren't they?"

Skye looks up at her, this woman who's evolved from Tall Scary Lady Of Her Childhood to her sort-of savior to her sponsor, and there's that trademark smirk on her face, and god she is so beautiful but she's so much more too, and then she's stepping closer, closer, quick and predatory enough to telegraph her intentions but gradual enough that Melinda can tell her to back off. 

She doesn't, and when Skye's lips meet hers Melinda doesn't withdraw, just loops her arms around Skye's waist and pulls her flush against her body. It's warm, and she tastes like a blend of salt and iron, and the world starts and ends with Melinda. They kiss for what seems like forever, from the genesis to the exodus, and when they part, Skye thinks she might be crying.

"My Lancelot." There's a quiet courage in there, a faith in Skye stronger than anything she's ever known. 

"Could Merlin see that?" She jokes, but her voice is raspy. Melinda touches her cheek and smiles. "She won't say a word."

"Good," Skye answers huskily, and when Melinda backs her against a wall she doesn't protest.

 

 

When they exit the fitting room later, hair slightly mussed, they walk right into fucking _Laufeyson_ strolling out of the opposite fitting room, and to say that Skye has a near heart attack is an understatement. Melinda doesn't turn a hair, naturally, and nods pleasantly at Laufeyson. "So nice to meet you here, Mr Laufeyson. What a coincidence."

"Oh yes, Ms Sitwell," he answers with a smile. His voice reminds Skye of a snake. "You had such a  _wonderful_ suit on at our dinner that night that I thought I just had to get one for myself. The tailors here are so skilled, you know."

Melinda nods tightly. "Indeed. I'm glad you appreciate the quality."

"I do." Laufeyson raises an eyebrow at Skye, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against Melinda. "And this is - "

"Just an employee, helping me around," Melinda cuts him off hurriedly, reaching out to shake his hand. "We really must be off. I do hope I'll see you around."

"I quite hope so." With that he's sweeping out of the tailor's with an oily smirk on his face, disappearing around the corner.

"What?..." Skye asks as Melinda ushers her to the car outside as top speed. "Arthur - the head of the Kingsmen - put me undercover to infiltrate Laufeyson's mansion, try and get some information on what he was doing. Didn't work out very well. It's got something to do with those free SIM cards he's distributing around the world, I know it, but we just can't figure it out." Melinda shakes her head, frown deepening. "We need to get out of here. We're going to my place, fetching RT, and we're going right back to HQ. I managed to plant a tracker on him while we were talking in there, shaking his hand - but it's not very strong. I need to talk to Merlin ASAP."

"Oh." Skye understands the severity of the issue, but she can't help but feel a little disappointed. Their allotted time together isn't up yet, and they've only just understood how the other feels. Melinda must hear the dismay in her voice, because she turns Skye to face her and presses her against the side of the car with a smile that's turned a little darker, with a hint of desire in her eyes. "I'll see you later, Lancelot. And we can pick up where we left off."

Her lips brush Skye's neck before she gives her a quick shove into the passenger seat, and Skye thinks her heart stops for a second.

 

 

At 1630 hours, Skye meets Arthur for the first time. He's not as old as she expected him to be, but in hindsight none of the Kingsmen seem to be. She's got RT sitting at her feet wagging its tail while she keeps her back straight and nods respectfully at the head of the table.

"Pretty dog you've got there, Skye. RT, isn't it?"

"Yes sir."

"Please, Skye. Call me Arthur." He kneels down to pet RT on the head, and the pug whines and licks his hand. "What does 'RT' stand for, out of curiosity?"

"Eh, it means Rising Tide," Skye says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "It was my nickname in the Marines. Long story."

Arthur nods, still scratching behind RT's ears. "You've spent a lot of time together."

Skye smiles down at RT. "We have. Haven't we, buddy?" Her dog looks up at her, tongue wagging, and Skye scoops it onto her lap and strokes its belly. For a moment, Arthur does nothing - simply watches. He has an easy smile on his face as he draws a gun from its holster and passes it to Skye. "Take the gun."

Skye does, turning it over in her hands. She's suspicious, uneasy now. What does he want her to do?

He meets her eyes unflinchingly. "Shoot the dog."

Her mouth goes dry and the gun is suddenly all sharp edges and cold steel in her fingers. "What?"

"Shoot your dog, Skye."

"You're - you're joking, ain't you?" 

Arthur smiles, baring all of his teeth. "Shoot. The. Dog."

He's not joking. There's nothing about Arthur's tone or expression that says he's joking. 

 _My Lancelot,_ Melinda said.

Lancelot. That position is meant to be hers.  _Hers._

She raises the gun, flips the safety and points it straight at RT.

Her pug. Her not-bulldog. It's been by her side since the start, she's trained it to sit and roll over and play dead. When she calls its name it comes to her side immediately, and it looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky. It's still watching her, totally trusting even with the barrel of a gun inches away from its face. It doesn't know. It'll trust Skye until the end, when she blows its brains out.

Skye doesn't even realize hands are shaking until she whips her arm across and points the gun at Arthur instead. 

From next door, there's the unmistakable sound of a shot.

"Give me the gun." Arthur says, an undercurrent of disgust in his voice. "I thought you had more guts than that, Skye. At least _one_ recruit here does. Pack up. Take your dog. Go home."

Skye doesn't even bother to wait around for Melinda. She hears Arthur's faint call of  _send her in_ and for the first time since she met her, Skye wants to break Natasha's neck. She scoops her pug up and storms out, tears pricking at her eyes as she leaves.

She steals the car. 

 

 

Skye's halfway home when the swanky Volkswagen changes direction and refuses to let her drive or even change gears. She kicks at the dashboard and screams bloody murder the whole fifteen minutes until she arrives at a very familiar house. Melinda's mien is thunderous as she unlocks the car doors and lets Skye in. 

"I cannot believe you," her sponsor seethes as she shuts the door behind Skye. It's the angriest she's ever seen Melinda. "I cannot  _believe_ you gave up your best opportunity for a  _dog!"_

Skye stares at her, tightening her grip on RT. The dog squirms in her arms, licking her face. "I can't believe you, of all people, would shoot your dog to get your fucking job!"

Melinda paces rapidly towards an unassuming pale peach door Skye didn't notice last night, with Skye hot on her heels. "Yes, I did!" She's almost yelling now as she wrenches the door open with a loud slam. "And Mr Pickles reminds me of that every time I take a shit!"

There is a fucking stuffed dog on a mantelpiece above the sink in the bathroom. 

A fucking stuffed dog with a nameplate underneath. It's gold and engraved in it are the words  _MR PICKLES,_ clear as day. 

If she wasn't so furious Skye thinks she would have burst out in hysterical giggles. "You shot your dog... and had it stuffed?"

"No, Skye. I shot my dog, took him home, and then I took care of him for a decade before he died of pancreatitis! They were  _blanks!_ Blanks! Natasha shot her poodle, didn't she? Black Widow isn't dead! They were  _blanks._  We were never going to actually kill your dogs.Why do you think Maria took you to Tech to meet Jemma during your training? What did you _think_ she was trying to tell you?" Melinda sinks down on a chair and covers her face. "All of this. Everything I did to repay your father for saving my life, and you gave it all up for a fucking  _dog_."

And then Skye can't breathe, she can't see, because -

what?

_What?_

It's like her whole understanding of her past, all the memories - they just  _shift._ Nothing changes, but everything changes. Skye's breath comes in short, uneven gasps. "My father died for you? You weren't just a messenger that day. He _gave up his life_ for you?" It's not even the revelation that cuts her deepest. "Everything you did was for my dad? Even - "

Melinda seems to have realised the gravity of her words a second too late, and she reaches out towards Skye, who's rapidly backing away. "Skye - "

Skye doesn't let her finish. "When you kissed me at the tailor's just now, when you  _fucked_ me - " Melinda flinches, and the world blurs out in front of her. "All that wasn't for me? It was for a dead man. It was never about me."

"Skye, no.  _No._ " Her sponsor gets to her feet, grabs her wrist in a desperate attempt to make up for what she said, but Skye can't -  _won't_ hear any of it. 

"Don't touch me, leave me alone! I never want to see you again!"

She turns and runs out of the house, and she's dimly aware that RT's still in her arms, barking furiously, but she can't, she just can't, she just -

 

 

She does the only thing she knows how - she goes to the nearest pub and gets wasted. Vodka on the rocks tastes like shite but at least it burns away the bitterness on her tongue. Skye is angry, hurt, and a thousand other emotions she isn't sure how to properly express. 

The bartender who serves her her fifth accompanies it with a serviette stained with a lip print. Skye gives her a drunken smile and fucks her in the backroom so hard her head spins and she forgets her name.  _Some Kingsman,_ she thinks, and briefly she wonders about Natasha, about Merlin, and it makes something crack beneath her ribcage so she just focuses on the soft olive skin beneath her, loses herself in a whirl of drunken pleasure.

She wakes up the next morning at the crack of ten a.m. to RT licking frantically at her face. Poor thing's probably hungry. She's still in the backroom, and she darts out of there top speed and tries to figure out where she'll go next.

Merlin answers that for her with a call to her phone. She's the one person in the fold of the Kingsmen that Skye thinks she _might_ still trust, so she picks up. "Oi?"

"Johnson." It's brisk but all her training hasn't been wasted; Skye instantly picks up on a wavering in her words. "Come back to HQ. Now. Go to the tailor's. They'll get you back."

For a moment Skye wants to cuss Merlin out; she probably already knows what happened so _fuck her_ for asking her to go back to HQ, but something deep in her gut tells her she should. "Roger that. C'mon RT," she answers, and she's off.

 

 

Natasha's the first one to greet her, and Skye's professional enough that she shoves her rising anger aside to nod at the new Lancelot. "What's going on?"

"Don't know. Merlin just told me to send you in." Her eyes are troubled. "And Skye... if it redeems me in any way in your eyes, I almost didn't shoot Black Widow, either. It was... it just..." She shakes her head. "If they told me to do it again, I don't think I could."

Skye looks at her with a searching expression, and sees her best friend. She claps Natasha on the side of her arm. "Don't worry about it, Lancelot."

It's not lost on her that Natasha smiles before Skye disappears down the hallway. 

 

 

"What is it?" Skye takes a seat once Merlin nods towards the chair. The Kingsman tech expert takes a deep breath, steepling her fingers and staring right at Skye. "There is something I need to show you. About Galahad. Melinda."

"Right," she says, and gets up, but Merlin narrows her eyes at her. "Johnson.  _Sit down._ You need to see this."

The bile is rising in her throat. "Merlin, I know you're a Kingsman and all that jazz but I don't  _need_ to see anything; I got kicked out for not wanting to murder my fucking dog, remember?" 

 _"Skye."_ It's the first time Merlin's called her by her name like  _this,_ and something's buzzing like ice through Skye's nerves as she sits down again. "Fine. What is it?"

Merlin passes her a familiar pair of glasses with the unspoken instruction to put them on. "Look at the mirror above my chair."

Skye does, and a video begins to play. 

It's a church, and then an intolerant preacher, and suddenly an iPhone with a symbol on the screen. More iPhones and Galaxy Notes and you name it with the same symbol. She's seen it. Laufeyson's. It's on his SIM cards. The person who was wearing the glasses and transmitting the feed gets up, turns to leave, but then something -

something changes.

Within seconds, she wants to throw up. It's unspeakable violence on a horrific scale, right in front of her eyes, as if she were  _there,_ as if she were the one perpetrating it. There's so much blood, and people are dying left and right, and it clicks.

Melinda was wearing these glasses. Melinda was killing all these people.

No. She doesn't understand. Not until every single person within the walls of the church has been savagely slaughtered and there's the sound of breathing, a hitch, and a keening that sounds like a wounded animal and makes RT whimper. 

And then Melinda's walking out of the doors, explaining Laufeyson's plan to the man himself. 

_You're going to broadcast the signal with your satellites to every phone in the world containing your SIM card, aren't you? Pure and simple brainwashing. They'll respond to the signal by attacking the people around them, and it'll just be a massacre on a global scale, because sooner or later everyone's going to die. Culling the human race. Except for a select rich, elite few. Noah's Ark all over again, isn't it, Laufeyson?_

_The Earth is dying, Miss May. It's infected with a virus, and that virus is humanity. I'm just doing my part to save the planet._

_Except for the politicians and millionaires and corrupted people of influence, huh? You're not going to get away with this. You have to know that._

_What a shame it looks like I already am._

He raises the gun, pulls the trigger, and even before the feed cuts out Skye is screaming. 

 

 

It takes half an hour for Merlin to calm Skye down to the point of coherence, and even then the tears are still streaming down her face. She regrets everything, she regrets running out of the house, she regrets that her last words to Melinda were accusatory and hate-filled and not  _I love you._

The moment she realizes her last words to her were  _I never want to see you again,_ Skye falls apart completely. 

Merlin comes to the rescue with her matter-of-factness. Of course. "Johnson. Kingsman is in crisis at this moment. Arthur has been compromised, as have Kay, Ywain and Safir. Percival, Erec, Feirefiz and Bors are critically injured; Caradoc and Galahad are dead. The only official agent we have on the field is Lancelot, and she's newly minted. We have a plan. But if it's going to work, we need you."

Skye snaps out of it immediately. She's dying inside, but the fate of the world is at stake here. 

Melinda died to save the world, and if she doesn't do something then soon she won't even  _have_ an obituary. 

"What's the plan?" She asks, and Merlin's smile says it all.  _That's my girl._

 

 

Merlin's a fucking genius, Natasha's braver than a lion and Skye would sooner die than allow Melinda's sacrifice to go to waste, so obviously the plan unfolds perfectly. Under the assumed identity of Kay, who's been taken out of commission, Skye gains access into Laufeyson's mountain bunker, where he's housing his chosen few in safety before he broadcasts the signal. She gets Merlin into the system by plugging a thumbdrive into a net-connected laptop. Natasha goes up in her high-altitude balloon and sends a missile into Laufeyson's core satellite while Skye singlehandedly stuns a room full of posh toffs who obviously haven't ever roughed up in their entire lives. A quick fight with Laufeyson, a knife through his throat, and just like that, in the span of an hour, it's over. Skye stands over the limp corpse and drops the bloodied blade, letting it fall with a soft thump.

This man shot Melinda. This man killed the woman she loves. 

 _Well done, Johnson. Mission accomplished,_ and Skye feels a gaping abyss yawn inside her chest, sucking in all the air so she can't breathe. It was so easy. This was a megalomaniac doing his own spin on taking over the world. She just effectively saved the world in _an hour_ , and she's not even a Kingsman. 

But Melinda is dead, and now Laufeyson is dead, and Merlin's praise sounds exactly like it did when she scored a perfect round during weapons training. Skye feels so empty she thinks she could just slip into the comforting embrace of death right now, and it would hurt so much less. 

 _Rendezvous,_ Merlin says gently, and she just wants to smash the glasses beneath her feet but she whispers _roger that_ back, and heads to the plane they flew into the bunker. 

 

 

There is, naturally, a scandal when it turns out that half of the current notable ruling authorities sold their people out and scampered off to safety knowing thousands upon thousands of innocent civilians were going to die. It is all the press can talk about for a solid two weeks, and for the first time in history, world peace talks actually have some weight to them. 

Bors is the first to recover, but before that Skye takes on the title of Kay alongside the only other Kingsman in action at the moment - Merlin offers her the Galahad title; the thought makes Skye physically sick. Since it's just Merlin, Kay and Lancelot, they attend to all the missions, which means that she's surviving on four hours of sleep a day and she's spending more time on planes and in hotel rooms than anyone should ever have to.

It's exhausting in every way, and her heart threatens to shatter when Natasha requests for a couple hours off to visit Percival in the intensive care unit. And she starts to see how Merlin looks at Natasha, how their hands brush when they're doing mission debriefs as a trio, how Natasha starts calling her  _Maria,_ and one day she walks into the briefing room to see Natasha pressed backfirst against the wall with her fingers twisted in Merlin's hair - that's when something just gives inside her, and oh god, Skye's never felt so alone. 

Merlin grants her lots of time off to spend with her mum and Daisy, and being a Kingsman automatically entitles her to a right proper house and stable income. She makes her mum ditch Dickface and lands him in the slammer for domestic abuse amongst other acts of violence and Daisy gets a nice playroom all to herself, mum gets to wallpaper three levels of her absolute  _mansion_ and Skye goes to sleep every night knowing her family is safe. 

But there's a Melinda-shaped hole in her heart that she just can't seem to fill, however hard she tries.

 

 

There is a funeral. There is a gravestone. There is an obituary. It says exactly what Melinda told her it would say, and it does not read  _lover_ either. 

She cries into Natasha's shoulder when they shovel clods of earth over the coffin. She goes home and drinks an entire bottle of vodka in one night, and then she gives herself two days to fix herself up before she's up and running again.

 

 

Six months on the world is finally beginning to move on in true semblance of normality, and there's a worldwide truce going on. Bors and Percival are on the field again, and Skye gets a bit more sleep at night.

It takes that long for her to ask, and eventually she only does because it dawns on her that they need a new King to command the Knights. "Who's the new Arthur?" 

Merlin pauses mid-explanation of some newfangled gadget Jemma apparently created and blinks, a strange expression shifting on her face. "Oh... yes. The new Arthur. Kay, that's a little... complicated."

Skye frowns at her tone. "The fuck does that mean? We have an Arthur or we fucking don't. Merlin can't be Arthur, so it ain't you. I know Bors and Percival ain't Arthur, and Lancelot's too young to be Arthur yet, and as far as I know you haven't recruited nobody else yet. So who's Arthur? Or are ya just running everything until you find an Arthur?" 

"It's..." Merlin shifts around a little more, and that expression of discomfort is almost foreign. She's only seen it once in her life; that day Melinda was in the infirmary after that Professor's head blew up. She looks like she's battling something internally before she fiddles with her glasses uncertainly. She gets up from her chair, turns away and speaks quietly seemingly to nothing for ten minutes, then _finally_ sets her jaw and turns back to face Skye head-on. "Kay. Go home."

_"Wot?"_

"Don't argue. Just. Go home."

Skye gets up and goes.

 

 

Home isn't the three-level mansion, no. For her mum, Skye's working at the tailor's now and her friend's house is nearer her workplace so she's renting a room, but in reality she's living in Melinda's old residence because it feels so, so wrong to leave it empty. 

She unlocks the door and walks in and nope,  _nope,_ Skye walks right the fuck back out because fuck  _off_ , she's  _got_ to be hallucinating. 

Because Melinda May is dead and that  _can't_ be her sitting on the sofa in the living room of her house.

"Skye?"

"You - are - fucking - dead," Skye yells when Melinda grabs her elbow and spins her around to face her. "I watched the fucking feed, you're  _dead._ I buried you. I fucking buried you and cried at your fucking grave, you piece of shit!"

There's an unbearable sadness in Melinda's eyes. "I know, Skye. I'm so sorry."

"Did Merlin know? God, if she knew you were alive and kicking I'm going to murder her with my bare hands, I swear to  _fuck,_ I - " She breaks off, gulping down breaths of air, and she just can't believe it, can't reconcile what she  _knows_ to be true with what's she can see and hear and touch right now. "How?  _How?_ The feed died. He shot you in the head, didn't he?"

Her sponsor nods. "He did. Here's the thing about Laufeyson you didn't know - he's deathly afraid of blood. He can't stand the sight of it. Naturally he's never had gun training. It was a point-blank shot, one he thought he couldn't miss, so he fired just like that. It grazed the side of my head, nearly blew my ear clean off. I went down; there was enough blood that one of his associates assumed I was dead and they just left." Melinda gingerly touches her right ear. "It was serious enough that I had to spent some time recuperating, even though it wasn't fatal. Merlin and I have been communicating for about three months, and once she knew I was alive, she slated me for the position of Arthur."

"You hid it from me for how long?" Skye digs her nails into her palm. "How  _could_ you? How could you?"

"I'm sorry. I just needed time away to think, and to... it wasn't the right time, Skye. But now I'm back."

Just like that? Does she really think she can just  _swan_ right back into her life with a breezy hello and _I'm back?_ Skye wants to beat her fists against Melinda's chest for hours, wants to scream at her and cry on her shoulder, wants to hold her close and never let her go again. 

Instead she just bites her lip and looks Melinda in the eye. "Don't you fucking leave me again; I waited over ten years to fall in love with you, don't you fucking run away and kick the bucket without my say-so."

Melinda's laugh of relief is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard. "Never."

She steps into Melinda's embrace, and has it really only been about a year since she landed up in the precinct for stealing a car and got busted out with the simple password of  _oxfords not brogues?_ It feels like a lifetime away, not really  _real,_ not any longer. 

"I love you," Skye says, and the reply is reassuring, a balm on her wounds, and she can feel her heart healing again. "I love you, too."

 

 

It starts with a medal. 

But it is so much more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> the kingsmen:  
> arthur: grant ward  
> percival: nick fury  
> galahad: melinda may  
> caradoc: peggy carter  
> bors: phil coulson  
> merlin: maria hill  
> \+ erec, safir, ywain, feirefiz, kay - unmentioned & unnamed
> 
> the recruits:  
> eggsy: skye  
> roxy: natasha romanoff  
> amelia: jemma simmons  
> \+ brock rumlow, bucky barnes, tony stark, scott lang, clint barton & two others - unmentioned & unnamed


End file.
